


A Scar of Green and Gold

by nightoftheghouls



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Banner-centric, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 04:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17859968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightoftheghouls/pseuds/nightoftheghouls
Summary: Kintsugi -The Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold or similar material, highlighting the cracks instead of disguising them.As the One Below All wreaks havoc on Earth, Bruce Banner and his system must stop their inner world from crumbling.A (presumably) alternate ending for The Immortal Hulk.





	A Scar of Green and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> First time doing a multi-chapter fic, first time posting it on AO3. Wheeeee.
> 
> Also, this fic requires a decent understanding of current events in Hulk comics, so spoilers abound.
> 
> TL;DR Bruce orchestrates his own murder, comes back, realizes he can't die, goes on the run, is possessed by his dead Father/Anti-God.

There was something almost comforting about it. The dark, timeless void his bodiless mind floated inside, it reminded Bruce of dying. At least, what he could remember of it, if what he had experienced all those times (fifteen times, if he remembered right) was even death at all. Maybe it was just waiting. After all, if there was nothing to experience, he probably wouldn’t have remembered it. Either way, what he’s experiencing now is... peaceful, if he dares to say so. Nothing can hurt him here, nothing at-

There’s an ache in his arm, a flash of impact. There’s one reason he knows he’s not dead: if he were, that would have hurt either way less or way more (he can’t exactly discount the afterlife anymore, after all). Hulk, Devil, _Brian_ (the name like poison in his thoughts) _,_ whatever he is, must be in another fight. Bruce can’t find it in him to care. It’s outcome doesn’t matter: he’ll wake up and sooner or later, everyone will hate him. Run, rinse, repeat ad nauseum. Might as well just stay here and sleep. God, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept.

 _Crack_.

That’s not right. Hulk doesn’t break.

 _Crack_.

No, that’s not coming from outside.

 _Crack_.

And suddenly, light streamed out of the darkness. The apathetic spell on him is broken. He’s somewhere, somewhen. He exists. Yet, his body and surroundings are strange. A glowing road, knotting and forking like dendrites in angles of imaginary numbers. The Crossroads, he remembers. The world within his mind, built to resemble the one place he felt safe: a place outside of reality itself. The safety was a farse, though. It was his mind, after all, the place where the _others_ live.

“How the devil did you end up here? Oh wait, I think I just answered my own question.”

Bruce looked up at the figure blocking his light, the gigantic hand offered to help him up. He hesitates for a moment, but when recognition dawns on his face, he takes it.

“It’s been a while, Bruce.” The Professor, as hulkish and fashionably-challenged as ever. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“It certainly has.” Bruce replied, finally finding his feet again.Thank fuck he’s here, he thought. If anyone will know what to do, it’s Prof.  “Well, you found me. Weird, I didn’t think I was even in the Crossroads. I thought--” He bit his lip. “I thought the-- I thought _he_ was keeping me out.”

“You were certainly well-hidden. I know everything about this place, and even I didn’t know this place existed.” Prof tilted his green head, eyes staring at something beyond his frail companion. He turned around to look, an encountered a familiar sight. A room, sparsely decorated aside from a full bookshelf and a small collection of well-worn plush toys, walls painted light blue; his old bedroom, the one he slept in when he was a boy, encased in a sort of dark eggshell, now cracked open due to the Professor’s efforts.

“I thought I didn’t have a room in here.” Bruce murmured.

“Me either. Though I suppose it may be some fragment’s area. There were cracks in it by the time I got here.” Prof crossed his arms, a low rumble in his chest. The inner world seemed to reply back, shaking the ground beneath them, Bruce could barely keep himself steady. . “--We don’t have time for this, we gotta move.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait--” Bruce pattered behind the other personality, barely keeping up with his giant strides. “Can you tell me what’s going on here? Last thing I remember is making it back to the bomb site.”

“I wish I could, but someone's keeping amnesia walls up tight. It’s big, though. Cosmically big.” The Professor exhaled, eyes searching the oil-painting sky for something unknown.

“We’ve dealt with cosmically big before.” Bruce replied. And no apocalypse ever keeps its promise, he thought-- before deciding that’s a bit too fatalist, even for him.

“Not like this. And not alone.”

“Do we count as alone?”

“With the clowns we’re working with? Absolutely.” Prof deadpanned. Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He forgot how much he missed the Professor, his wit, his confidence, his patience. He was everything he wished he could be. Basically, an entirely different person. It’s hard to believe they thought they were one and the same. “And yet, the clowns have to be enough, since as far as I can tell—”

Bruce flinched, feeling the same painless flash as before, but colored red and gold and sounding of metal crumpling _. Tony._ He’s fighting Tony out there.

“— _They_ aren’t being much help. Watch your step.”

Following the warning, Bruce looked down, only to see a large fissure in the road, creating a gap into the endless void below them. He hopped it, only to encounter a steep incline, which the Professor’s giant palm helped him conquer. Reaching the small summit, the small man’s jaw opened wide.

The fissure was no one-off. In fact, the entirety of the Crossroads from here on looked as if it had been stricken by an earthquake. Debris and cracks broke the once-smooth ground, and even the otherworldly stars seemed to twitch uncharacteristically. This world, his mind, was in ruins.

“What the hell--” He whispered, unable to mask his horror. He wanted to stop in his tracks, but the Professor lightly shoved him into keeping pace.

“Getting shot in the head wasn’t great for this place. And doing what you did--” The giant grumbled, and Bruce felt his body tingle with shame. “Only made it worse. I’m mad at you for that, by the way.”

Of course he was mad. He tried to _kill_ them. He, Bruce, was a _them_ , and he decided to throw the baby out with the bathwater. Yet, when Amadeus arrived with his so-called cure (there was none, of course, neither he nor the world had a cure for his existence), communication with the others seemed to fizzle out with his system. Thus, there was nobody to stop his smart-dumb ass from doing what he did. They had stopped him before, after all. When he had ALS, The Professor convinced him that life on the inside was better than dying. He didn’t believe it, but he went along with it. Then the cure came, and he was free once more, condemning his good conscience in the process.

“--I know. Fuck, you should be mad at me. I’m an idiot, I’m an idiot and I’m terrible at this, I should’ve just let you be in charge--”

“Stop it, Bruce.” Prof said it so kindly it broke their shared heart. “It’s your life-- a life I took over, even if I didn’t know. I’m not about to be loved by people in your place.”  Was that how he felt? Like a replacement for him? He was his own person, a better person, he was--

“The only way I’d feel alright about being in charge is if you reconsidered my offer.”

Bruce was silent. _His offer._ One the Professor had made years ago, before everything went to even more literal hell. He'd only mentioned it once, away from prying eyes. Bruce thought he had forgotten about it.

“I can’t.” He said, the pause finally birthing words. “I’m sorry. I just can’t."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what I'd become."

The Professor looked down at him, solemn and a bit offended. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by an alien sound, like a string instrument being attacked by a wolf. Before Bruce could respond, he was scooped up under the Professor’s arm. His yelps went ignored as the alter ran, becoming screams as he jumped into a fissured void.

The landing was soft. When Bruce opened his eyes, he saw a maroon carpet.

“Took ‘ya mooks long enough.” Growled a familiar voice. “Welcome to Casa Del Fix-It.”


End file.
